


To Shear the Curls

by the_wrambling_writer



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: For Parkrstark, Foul Language, Gen, Haircuts, Happy Appreciation Day, Irondad, Mentions of Interwebs, Not Starker Ya Nasties, Tender-headedness, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, graphic overuse of the word kid, hair play, my brain did its best and the results are still mediocre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 22:36:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16004717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_wrambling_writer/pseuds/the_wrambling_writer
Summary: … or Peter Parker gets a haircut.





	To Shear the Curls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [parkrstark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkrstark/gifts).



> Happy appreciation day to parkrstark! I wrote you a crack fic. Why? Because I love you Shannon. Enjoy :)

* * *

The sun shines through the windows of the Tower. Peter and Tony are in the living room, casually sitting at the coffee table. Tony is running through some paperwork. Peter is staring at his assignments. He isn't speaking.

This is unusual in itself. Most of the time, Peter is very talkative. But today? Nothing.

He's been kind of down for several days, now that the billionaire thinks about it. He hasn’t been stressed or upset, exactly. Peter’s just been acting differently. Was it the bullies (stupid Flash)? Had he and his nerd friend Ned had a falling out? Was something going badly with Aunt May? _What’s wrong, kid? I can help you. Let me help you._

Tony can't take it anymore. He has to do something, _anything_ to help Peter. If someone’s messing with his kid, then he should know about it, shouldn't he?

“Hey, kid,” Tony says.

The said kid looks up from the Pre-Calculus homework that he’s been pretending to work on for the last hour, a guilty expression on his face. “Um, is there something you need, Mr. Stark?” he asks quietly.

“No, no, I’m just checking up on you. Only … you’ve been kind of quiet today, Pete.”

Peter takes a deep breath. “It’s nothing,” he murmurs.

Of course it’s nothing. The damn kid probably considers what he had for breakfast top-secret information.

“Uh huh. I’m really believing you on that right now,” Tony says. “Tell me: Who do I need to kill?”

“Mr. Stark -“

“Geez, I’m kidding, Peter. Do you want to tell me what’s up?”

Peter wrings his hands. “You’re going to think I’m so stupid.”

“Peter, when have you ever been stupid?”

Peter opens his mouth to reply, but Tony cuts him off. “Don’t answer that. The point is, if something’s bothering you, then that something probably isn’t stupid at all. If you tell me what’s wrong, then maybe we can do something to fix it. I can’t promise that it’ll work, but I can promise that we’ll try.”

“Okay,” Peter says. “I'll tell you. Um, have you noticed how long my hair’s been getting kind of long?”

Tony has noticed. The kid’s curls have grown almost to his shoulders. His bangs cover half his forehead. Personally, Tony doesn’t care. The kid pulls it off. Besides, those curls … Peter is adorable. Tony loves to take his hand and playfully run his fingers through his mentee’s hair with paternal feeling he’s been trying hard to ignore. But why would Peter be upset about it? _Oh, God. Am I doing something wrong? Does he hate me?_

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

Peter prepares himself to speak. “Well, I’ve been thinking. I really need a haircut, but it’s — ah, it’s too complicated.” He stops speaking.

Tony starts to laugh. “Okay, kid, who you are trying to impress? I know Ned doesn’t care how long your hair is, and I can’t fathom who else you could be worrying about." 

”We – we’re not – you know – _together_ , Mr. Stark,” Peter sputters.

“Well, shit, now you have me convinced,” Tony says sarcastically. “Next time your guy in the chair comes around, I’m going to have to play matchmaker, aren’t I? Oh, the pain of young love!”

Peter panics. “Don’t you dare tell him, Mr. Stark!”

“So you do like him!” Tony teases.

Peter sighs, fiddling with his sweatshirt. “That’s irrelevant.”

“Sure it is, Pete.”

Peter glares at him, but Tony can tell he isn’t really angry. “No need to freak out, kid. I’m just teasing, although you and Ned would make an _adorable_ couple –“

“Mr. Stark.”

“Okay, kiddo. You win. Back on subject: if you want a haircut so badly, then why can’t you just make an appointment? I doubt you’ve gone your entire life without cutting your hair.”

Peter stares at shoes. “You’re — you’re right. I’m just being stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid …”

Tony gently grabs Peter by the shoulder to prevent him from moving away. “Hey, don’t worry, kiddo. Tell me what’s up. It’s clearly bothering you. Maybe we can fix things. But the thing is, I need you to let me know first.” _This kid is going to be the death of me._

Peter seems to come to a decision. “Um, okay. Remember me telling you about the spider bite that gave me these powers? How my senses were dialed to like ten?”

“Yeah.” Tony isn’t likely to forget that story soon.

“Well, a few months after the bite … my hair was getting kind of long. It was time for a haircut, so I went back to my usual. Mariam. She was really nice. Always did a good job.”

“What went wrong, then?” Tony asks.

Peter hesitates. “The bite … apparently it’s not just my sight and hearing that have gotten super sensitive. I’ve always been kind of tender-headed, but that last time — she just kept yanking at my hair, and I wanted her to stop, but I didn’t want to whine and tell her to stop because haircuts are expensive, and Aunt May had pre-paid … I mean, it wasn’t _that_ bad, but I didn’t want to go through that again. So I — I guess I’ve just been kind of ignoring the fact I need a trim or something.”

_It wasn’t_ that _bad_. In Peter-speak, that means the pain was unbearable. Tony’s heart aches for him. _Oh, Peter._

“Why the hell didn’t you tell Aunt May?” Tony asks. “If you were in that much pain, she should’ve know about it, right?”

Peter swallows. “If I told her about the pain, she’d want to know why it was there, and then I’d have to tell her about the bite. I couldn’t do it.”

The two are silent for a moment. A horrifying thought suddenly occurs to Tony.

“Wait. Kid. I — have I been hurting you? All those times I was messing with your hair, playing with your curls … oh my God, what have I done?” He smacks his hand against his forehead.

Peter is quick to stop him. “No! You haven’t done anything to hurt me! I promise.”

“You promise?”

“Yes, Tony. You never pull at my hair. You never scratch up my head. You just sort of … run your fingers through my curls, if that makes sense? It feels so soft. Okay, that's pretty weird, but I like it a lot, actually.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

Tony is relieved, but he still doubts. _Is he telling the truth? Am I overstepping? Don’t fucking hurt him, Stark._

“Okay, kid. I think I get it. You think you need a haircut. You want a haircut, but the problem is that haircuts really hurt you. You’re sensitive because of the spider bite, and you don't know what to do? Does that sound about right?”

“I think so.”

“Can you think of any solutions?” That was what Tony always did when Peter asked for advice or an answer to a problem. He found that things were better when Peter could be gently pushed towards the solution. Often, Tony found himself learning from the kid. _My kid._

“I think so.”

“Hit me with it, Pete.”

“Can — can you cut my hair, Mr. Stark? You’re always so gentle, and I don’t think it would hurt as much if you did it, and I -“

Tony cuts him off. “Absolutely not, kiddo. I’m getting flashbacks to the time I tried to play stylist to Rhodey at MIT.” The billionaire shuddered at the memory. He had gotten blackout drunk and done a bunch of stupid shit. Funny at the time, sure, but in retrospect? A total fucking nightmare.

Peter looks at him imploringly. “Please?” Tony is putty in his hands. He can’t say no to his kid’s brown, puppy-dog eyes.

He gives in. “I’ll try, kid, but I can’t promise it’ll turn out alright. At best, you’ll end up with a really-semi okay style. At worst … well, you won’t be able to see the worst of it.”

Peter giggles. “I don’t care, as long as you just get it done.”

Tony ruffles his hair. “Sure thing, kid.”

* * *

* * *

 

They schedule the haircut for next Tuesday. During that time, Tony learns more about hairdressing than he ever needed to know. He then proceeds to ignore all of the carefully researched information in favor of “winging it.”

Peter arrives at the Tower on Tuesday afternoon with a bounce in his step. He walks into the living room. Tony is waiting for him. “The trim is still on, right?”

“Yeah, kid. I haven't forgotten about it,” Tony replies.

“I’m just making sure. Are you ready?” he asks, nodding towards the basket of hairdressing tools.

“I'm ready when you are, Pete.”

They settle down, sitting in a pile of blankets and pillows. Tony figures that he'll just comb through Peter’s hair before washing it.

“Tell me if it hurts, Pete, or so help me –“

“I will! Just … can we start now?” Peter asks. The kid’s excited about getting a freaking haircut. So _pure_.

“Sure thing, kiddo.” He takes up the comb.

Carefully, piece by piece, hair by hair, Tony begins to untangle the mess of Peter’s curls. He runs the comb gently down his scalp, making sure not to hurt him. He works through an entire season of _The Real Housewives of New York City. I still can't believe the kid watches this shit, and I can't believe I actually enjoy it._

Finally, after what seems like hours, Tony is finally finished. He glances at Peter, engrossed in the show.

“Okay, Underoos, I think it’s time for the wash now. You up for that?”

Peter jumps up. “What – oh, yeah! Where are we going?”

“I think I’m going to take you to the kitchen to scrub that hair, honestly. The sink is pretty big, and you won’t have to lean back too far.”

“Okay. The water won’t be cold, will it?”

“I don’t know, Pete. I hate to deprive you of a freezing ice bath.”

Peter looks half fearful, half confused.

“Kidding. I’m going to set the water temperature to warm. Sit tight. What shampoo do you want?” he asks.

“The coconut.”

“You really want that stuff?” Tony wrinkles his nose in disgust.

“Do you have problem with that?”

“Na, kid. I’m letting you stick with your poor choice of shampoo,” Tony says.

He fills the sink with water, taking care to make sure the temperature is just right. Not cold, but not too hot, either. It was the kind of water you’d bathe a child in. _My child …_

_Peter_ is sitting in a kitchen chair pulled up to counter. The chair is high, putting his head just over the sink. A towel is wrapped around his shoulders.

“I’m ready, Mr. Stark.”

Tony takes a cup and fills it water. He gently pours it over Peter’s curls. He opts for this over running the water from the sink directly onto his head. He figures it’ll spare the kid some pain.

He squirts out some shampoo into his hands. He rubs into Peter hair, relishing the way.

“Quit playing with my hair, Mr. Stark. You can do that when we’re done,” Peter says.

“Oh, but you’re wrong there, Spider-baby. Half of your hair is going to be gone by that time. I have to half of the hair playing out now.”

“Mr. Stark –“ Peter laughs.

Tony loves his laugh. He loves that his kid is happy, laughing, smiling. He wants it to last. _Let me keep you safe, Peter. Let me protect you forever. Nothing’s ever going to hurt you. Not on my watch._ A warm feeling fills his chest.

He finishes washing Peter’s impressive mess of curly hair. Tony dries his hair with the towel, exceedingly soft. He combs the kid’s hair again, getting out those last few tangles. Peter winces a few times. Only few, but the billionaire feels as if he’s committed a dreadful crime. He tries not to feel too guilty about it.

Finally, they’re ready for the final cut. Tony and Peter move to the table. They have a tarp spread on the floor, and a pancho over Peter’s body (hey, they had to improvise). Tony has pair of sharp, clean scissors at the ready. This is it.

“Final chance to back out goes now, Underoos,” Tony warns.

Peter grins. “Go ahead. It'll turn out great.” _Why does the kid have so much faith in me? What have I done to deserve him?_

“How do you know?”

“ ‘Cause you're Tony Stark.”

“That's a pretty shitty reason, to be honest.”

Peter points at him. “I thought we agreed to no self-deprecation.”

“I remember no such agreement.”

“Shut up.”

Tony laughs. “Fine, fine. But remember: if you keep this up, my hand just might slip –“ Tony mimes snipping off a large portion of hair “– and create some … undesirable results. Keep that in mind, Spider-baby.”

Peter swats at him. “That's evil.”

“I'm stating the facts here.”

“Just cut the hair, Mr. Stark.”

Tony relents. Over the course of an hour, he painstakingly attempts to properly style his kid’s curls. Sometimes he slips. He misses or eliminates a portion of hair. But he continues. Tony goes on trimming, fixing, and teasing the hair to a decent length. It's literal torture. Things aren't helped by the fact that Peter is distracted so easily. About five minutes in, he begins fidgeting, making the whole process all the more nerve-racking. By the end, the two of them just want it to be over.

It finally is.

Tony holds up a small mirror, showing Peter the final product. It was trimmed down considerably, just long enough to curl out (so Tony could still run his fingers through his hair). “It's not strictly _good_ , but – do you like it, Peter?”

Peter looks at his mentor with shining eyes. “I love it so much, Mr. Stark. Thank you. _Thank you_. 

“It's just a haircut.”

Peter still acts like he hasn't seen the sun for millennia. “I know. But … the thing is … you do a lot for me, and you don't have to. You're not just there for the big stuff. You're there for the stupid, little things – like my hair, or my school, or my crush …”

“Ah, thank you kid, but I'm actually an ass – wait, what is this that I hear?A confession? Interwebs confirmed?”

“Interwebs?” Peter asks, confused.

“It's my ship name for you and your guy in the chair. You know, you shoot webs, and Ned helps you with your computer system? Interwebs?”

Peter considers this. “Interwebs.”

Tony has no idea whether this is actual confirmation or not. He drops the subject. Another time.

“Well, kid, I'm pretty beat. Let's get some pizza and finish watching that unreality of a TV show.”

“Can we?” Peter asks excitedly.

“I'm inviting you, aren't I? I'll tell May where you're at.” At this point, Tony and May had this kind of sixth sense when it came to Peter Parker. He was theirs.

Tony puts his across arm on Peter’s shoulder. They walk to the living room. Peter is still talking his ear off. Tony smiles, taking a moment to capture the memory.

Later that night, the two are snuggled up on the couch, Peter clinging to Tony. The kid is like a koala. He runs his fingers through Peter’s curls. He plays with his hair until the teenage falls asleep. He sighs. _I love you so much._

**Author's Note:**

> The phrases "It was trimmed down considerably, just long enough to curl out (so Tony could still run his fingers through his hair)" and "It's my ship name for you and your guy in the chair. You know, you shoot webs, and Ned helps you with your computer system? Interwebs?" are taken from posts by @parkrstark on tumblr.


End file.
